


aimer ce que vous créez

by Red_Terra



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Dark, M/M, warning: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Terra/pseuds/Red_Terra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cid loves everything he creates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aimer ce que vous créez

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flecksofpoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/gifts).



> written for the DOINK! 2012 collection prompt:
> 
> Fandom(s): Final Fantasy VI  
> Request: Kefka/Cid. A man who loves his machines.
> 
>  I hope that you enjoy this! *nervous*
> 
> *

Cid sighed as he heard the door to his lab open and close, the motion causing a soft gush of wind to blow his paperwork into disarray. He didn't need to ask who was there. As he carefully connected wires to the tiny object on his worktable, he told Celes it was time for her to care for the roses out in his back garden. Celes, ever insightful even at the tender age of ten, gave her grandfather a worried look before obediently heading outside.

The scientist made a few small adjustments before setting his project down on the wooden desktop. It was a small black machine, with legs that moved and a space on top for someone to sit and control it. This was simply a prototype, but he would soon have the pleasure of erecting one on a grander scale. A nimble hand snatched the machine from Cid and held it up to a pale face. Lips twisted into a smirk as the little 'magitek armor' waved its servos helplessly in the air.

"Another creation of yours?" Kefka asked, setting the model back down it front of its creator. "You certainly do love your machines."

Soft laughter then, at his private joke that Cid already guessed the answer to. The older man looked up at Kefka and smiled honestly. He knew that when Kefka came to him, it was for only one reason, and that also meant that the General was in a fragile state. Kefka could and would destroy those who opposed him or the Emperor, figuratively and sometimes literally. Yet he deferred to Cid in these stolen moments, when it was just the two of them, and Kefka needed some kind of reassurance, one that could not be named but could be felt.

Cid knew him more intimately than a lover. He had had his hands inside of the man, had implanted magicite into Kefka's body in a risky experiment whose end result, if it succeeded, would be worth infinitely more than the price of Kefka's life if it had failed. There had been no one else there to see how, in the delicate first moments of the operation, Kefka's body had tried to repel the foreign substance; the insides of him had rent in multiple places and his heart had stuttered under the assault. Cid had been prepared, his table had held both medical instruments as well as wire and springs and small machinations designed to keep the heart to beat. He had had to use all of his devices just to keep Kefka's body working and to keep the magicite in him.

When he had finished, he had marveled at the fusion of metal and bone, wires and flesh, his creation. His eyes had been drawn to the light that glinted off the parts that were not soaked in blood. That had not been the end of it; Cid had run tubes and shunts throughout the arms, opened channels to allow for the magicite to run to the hands, to allow its magic to run to the palms and then out, if his theories had been correct.

When Kefka had awoken, Cid had been by his side in an instant. Overwhelming pain had flared through Kefka's body and he had clutched himself in agony, had shuddered uncontrollably, as realization had hit him; he had known what had been done to him even though he wouldn't have been able to feel the hard edges or smooth curves of polished metal through his skin and muscle. But he had known.

Cid had gasped when the first tears had begun to run down the younger man's face. He had never seen Kefka cry before, eyes wide and large, with such a lost look in them that the weight of what Cid had done had crashed down on him with a crushing weight. Yet...Cid had only felt half horrified and partially guilty. There had been a small part left that had thrilled at his success, at what he had made possible with his own hands.

"Why?" Kefka had asked him when his sobbing had died down. Then, in a barely there whisper, "What have you made of me?" Kefka was never quite the same after that. Sure he was still arrogant and cocksure, ambitious and bloodthirsty, but now each demonstration held an undercurrent of a damaged mind. It was as if only the metal bits were holding him together, his mind unable to cope with what had happened, the imbedded magicite only adding stress to the shattering psyche.

There were times when neither his words or actions made any sense, when he would lock himself in his room and scream and then later emerge with a painted face and feathers in his hair. There were times when Cid felt guilty for the harm that was done to Kefka's mind. And then there were times like now. The General came to Cid bare, no make-up or finery, not even in his military dress. He looked so young now, almost innocent, with long blonde hair falling to hide his face, his green eyes barely visible through the curtain of his hair. It was at a time like this that Cid felt that pride again, same as the day he had created what stood before him.

"Am I still your favorite?" Kefka asked, the implication clear in these words. Cid pulled him to his chest in a gentle embrace, head angled up to answer the question through action. Soft lips parted against his and Cid was sure he could taste copper in the other's mouth. Kefka's skin was cold, even at the point when it should have fever hot under the scientist's hands. He wondered if even Kefka's blood now ran cold, the warmth leeched out with each passing across the intricate network of metal. It felt glorious under Cid's hands.

When they went to the small bed, more of a cot really, at the back of the lab, they were impossibly quiet. The act between them was a mimicry of true lovers; this was comfort in submission, claiming in gentle actions. A worship of pale skin, adoration and pride in each movement. A bending to the will of a creator, only here, and only for now. Soft moans in two voices, quiet whispers, unspoken pleas and a hissed Mine! that came at the end.


End file.
